Batgammon
by paganpunk2
Summary: Father's Day is coming, and Dick wants to share his favorite game with his favorite person. The only problem is that the game in question is banned. Will a little Alfred cleverness be enough to bring smiles to both Dick and Bruce's faces?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Here's the first half of a little Father's Day piece featuring young Dick. My goal is to post the second half on Father's Day.**

 **After you've enjoyed 'Batgammon' I hope you'll swing by my website at www dot jleehazlett dot com and check out some of my original fiction. Fans of young Dick might enjoy 'The 57-10', while those who prefer a good crime story will like 'The Hand Job'.**

 **As always, happy reading!**

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Alfred wasn't sure what he had expected when he left the kitchen to see what his younger charge had been up to all morning. What he _was_ sure of was that finding the full contents of the games closet scattered about had never crossed his mind as a possibility. "…Master Dick," he sighed as he surveyed the bright boxes stacked in teetering piles all over the floor, "what on earth are you doing?"

The ten-year-old backed out of the open closet with his hands full. "I'm looking for backgammon." He tiptoed through the maze he'd made, found a spot for the load in his arms, and then turned to face Alfred again. "But I can't find it anywhere. We have it, don't we? I mean…" Dick indicated his handiwork. "We have every other game ever made."

"It certainly seems that we do," Alfred agreed. "Particularly when one sees them all out at the same time."

Dick blushed. "…Oh. I kind of made a mess, didn't I? Don't worry, I'll put it all away like it was. I just want to find backgammon first. Do you know where it is?"

"I do know where it is, young sir, but I'm afraid you won't like my answer." The truth of the matter was that Bruce had long ago banished the game from the house. The fit of pique in which he'd pronounced that sentence had come after a string of near-wins against Alfred in which the then-preteen's strategy had been flawless. Only his luck had been lacking, and the butler knew full well that his inability to control that factor had been what drove Bruce over the edge of tolerance.

Usually Alfred wouldn't have complied with an order as absurd as the one that had been issued that day. It would have been far more reasonable to hide the game in his own rooms until a calmer age arrived, as he had done with other objects upon which Bruce's baleful eye had been turned. The backgammon incident had been the first of the boy's full-on pubescent rages, though, and the intensity of his ire had convinced Alfred that it was best to abide by his charge's wish. The high-end board and pieces hadn't been cheap, but they weren't family heirlooms, either. They had been gotten rid of without much guilt on his part.

Dick blinked at him for a moment after he'd finished giving a simplified version of the events of two decades earlier. "So…we don't have it at _all_?"

"I'm afraid we don't." Dick sighed sadly, and Alfred felt his own mouth turn down in response. "Was there some special reason you were looking for it?"

"It's just something I used to play with my dad, and I thought maybe Bruce and I could play it together, too. You know, since this weekend is Father's Day and it's supposed to be rainy and gross out. But I guess he wouldn't want to play backgammon even if we did have it, since he didn't like it before." Dick glanced at the numerous containers he'd removed from storage. "I probably should have asked you if we had it before I dug through everything, huh? It would have been faster."

"It would have saved you a fair bit of time, yes, but that isn't cause to feel bad about the method you chose instead. I see no reason to fault you for seizing the initiative and helping yourself. Provided, of course, that you put everything back where it belongs."

Dick's expression turned pleading. "Will you help me? Some of those shelves are higher than I can reach from the ground. It will go way faster if I don't have to climb up to put things away like I did when I got them down."

Alfred shuddered and tried not to think about the injuries that could have resulted had the boy fallen in the confines of the narrow walk-in closet. "If you'll bring me the stacks, Master Dick, I will fill the shelves that are too tall for you. And if in the future you should want something that you can't reach without climbing, come and get me. Master Wayne would not be happy if he knew you were secretly scaling the furniture."

"But you won't tell him, right? If I promise not to anymore, I mean?"

The child's tone was so eager that an indulgent smile slipped across the butler's lips. "If you promise to stop treating the household fixtures as a jungle gym, young sir, it will stay between us."

It took a mere fifteen minutes for them to replace everything that Dick had pulled out. Alfred wasn't surprised to learn that the boy had created a mental system to help him track where each stack had come from. Such mind tricks were, after all, the sort of thing that Batman was keen on. "Last one!" Dick announced finally. "…There. Thanks for helping me, Alfred. Now I know what all my options are for Sunday. Although I really wish Bruce didn't hate backgammon so much. Dad and I used to play it all the time…"

"Which game do you think you'll suggest in place of it?" Thinking about a happy activity in the near future, Alfred hoped, would keep his charge from dwelling on the reason why he wasn't able to spend Father's Day with his biological parent. Besides, so long as they were already standing in the middle of the collection he might as well pull out the box that was most likely to be wanted when the weekend arrived.

"Umm…gosh. There's so many. Can I think about it?"

"Of course you may. Just let me know by Saturday evening, and I'll be sure to have whatever you'd like out and waiting for you and Master Wayne to enjoy together."

Dick beamed. "Thanks, Alfred. You're the best." And with that he scurried from the room, headed off on some new pre-lunch adventure that Alfred was sure he couldn't even begin to imagine.

Alfred left at a slower pace, deep in thought. Many of the things he had once had to hide from Bruce had been successfully re-introduced as his charge aged; maybe now was the time to add backgammon to that list. Even if it didn't make the billionaire happy, Dick's joy at seeing the game was sure to counter any negativity. The fact that the boy had gone through an entire closet looking for it just so he could share something with his second father that he'd enjoyed with his first wouldn't be lost on Bruce, either. Of that much, Alfred swore as a plan coalesced in his head, he would make absolutely certain.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunday dawned as stormy and cold as the weatherman's worst predictions had promised. Despite the gloom outside, Alfred couldn't keep a smile off of his face as he mounted the stairs with a heavy breakfast tray in his hands. An experienced elbow hooked the lever handle to the master suite, and the door swung open silently. In a moment Alfred had set down his load on the nearest dresser and turned to the bed. "Good morning, sirs," he greeted the lump beneath the blankets. "Your breakfast is ready."

Usually when he found them bundled together like this it was Bruce who stirred first. Dick tended to be the second to wake, which Alfred chalked up to his youth and the fact that he was often driven from his own room by sleep-interrupting nightmares. But this morning it was the boy whose eyes opened fastest. Despite having been out until after midnight playing Robin, Dick was downright chipper. "Yay! It's finally Father's Day!" he cheered. "Bruce, wake up! Alfred brought breakfast, and it smells _amazing_."

Bruce's gave a tiny groan. "Alfred's breakfasts tend to do that," he mumbled. "But that doesn't necessarily make them easier to get up for."

"But it's Father's Day! There's breakfast and cake and presents and-"

The billionaire interrupted him with a fake snore. Dick looked affronted for a second, then giggled as he realized he was being teased. Bruce smirked at the sound. "Okay, chum. I'm up. You had me at 'breakfast'. Or rather, Alfred had my nose with breakfast."

Dick's laughter intensified. "Now I'm picturing a giant nose on a plate next to some eggs and bacon. That's kind of gross."

"I'm sure Alfred would clean it before he served it to us."

"Eww…"

"For you, maybe. But if we were eating my nose, I wouldn't be able to taste it much. It wouldn't be so bad if I couldn't taste it."

"Hey! That's cheating!"

"I don't know about cheating, but it's definitely auto-cannibalism."

"Such a delightful topic to discuss just before a meal," Alfred remarked. The upturned corners of his mouth belied the chastisement in his tone. While Bruce had lightened up considerably in the fifteen months since Dick had come into their lives, the sort of jocularity he was edging towards this morning was still rare. It delighted the butler to see his elder charge in such a mood today, when he most deserved to be happy.

Alfred had prepared a veritable smorgasbord for the pair's breakfast. Caramelized pears and sugared strawberries sat in bowls, waiting to be spooned onto golden waffles. Fat little sausages glistened in a tidy stack beside a pair of tongs. Miniature cinnamon rolls mingled with other still-warm pastries in a bread basket. Along with these and a dozen other items were two spotless silver carafes and a pitcher of fresh orange juice. The feast's various scents combined into the heady mixture that set Alfred's mouth to watering even though it was he who had put it all together to start with. His boys, he boasted silently to himself, were spoiled.

Everything he'd made couldn't possibly fit on bed trays – meticulous stacking had been required to even get it up the stairs in one load – so Alfred set up a buffet on the dresser-top and bade them serve themselves as they wished. When they were settled back among the tangled sheets with full plates and hot beverages he excused himself. "If you'll just come down to the den once you've dressed, we'll move on to the next part of the day."

"Everything's ready?" Dick asked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Alfred winced, and the boy blushed. "Sorry," he said after he'd swallowed.

"You're forgiven, Master Dick. And to answer your question, yes. Everything is ready."

"Oh, good."

Back out in the hall, Alfred allowed his self-satisfaction to creep into his expression. Dick clearly thought he knew what 'everything' entailed, which meant that his surprise when Bruce opened his last Father's Day gift would be legitimate. That could prove to be key in the event that the billionaire's mood changed when he saw what the package contained. For all that Alfred was half-dreading the unveiling of the game board, he couldn't wait for it to happen. It wasn't that he wanted to get the potential blow-up over with so much as that he was hoping it wouldn't happen at all. If Bruce took the whole thing in stride it would be a real mark of how much he'd matured, not just since his teenage years but since Dick's arrival.

Still, Alfred wasn't going to hold his breath. If he knew anything about Bruce it was that he tended to react to intense emotional stimuli in an extreme manner. The deaths of his parents had led to the birth of Batman; the similarities between Dick's orphanhood and his own had led him to take in the child almost immediately upon meeting him. Considering how strong his reaction to losing at backgammon had been he might well do something equally as unexpected when it was reintroduced to him. But if there was ever going to be a good time to try, this was it. Besides, if he didn't make the attempt Alfred knew that he would wonder how it would have gone for the rest of his life.

He had stacked the presents on the den's coffee table earlier that morning. At the time he'd thought his arrangement was fine, but as he waited for the others to finish eating and come downstairs he was seized by a need to re-do it. His watch had ticked off twenty minutes before Alfred stepped back and considered his handiwork anew. A denigrating _tsk_ escaped him. He had moved every package at least three times only to put everything right back where it had started. He'd done the thing right to begin with, and all of his subsequent efforts had been a waste of time.

But time _had_ passed, and that counted for something. Sure that it couldn't be much longer before his charges appeared – unless, god forbid, their full stomachs had lured them back into the realm of sleep – he circled the room impatiently. Just as he was about to climb back to the second floor and see what the delay was, he heard Dick's eager young voice approaching. "I wonder what Alfred will have us do first? We talked about some stuff, but we didn't actually, you know, schedule it." A beat passed. "Maybe it will be cake first! It's almost noon, he might let us get away with that. Although I don't think he'd let us have it in the den…"

"Where would you even put cake after that breakfast, chum?" Bruce's amused rumble inquired. "I don't think I'll have room for more food until dinner."

"I would find room for a piece of Alfred's cake, no matter how full I was."

"You'd be sick."

"Yeah. But it would be worth it."

"Careful. You're starting to sound like Wally, and while imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery I don't think your stomach can keep up with his."

"Well, Alfred said last week that I'm due for a growth spurt. Plus, who wouldn't have a Wally-sized appetite for Alfred's cake?" The pair turned in from the hall, and Dick's face lit up with a grin of discovery. "Oh! Bruce, look, it's presents first!"

"I see that." They seated themselves on the sofa, and Bruce lifted an eyebrow at Alfred. "I'm surprised we're doing them so early in the day, though."

It was true that gifts were usually saved for late afternoon at all Wayne Manor celebrations save Christmas. Alfred had expected to be questioned about the order of events, though, and responded easily. "I thought you might wish to enjoy some of your gifts during the day, since the weather precludes your venturing outside."

Thunder rolled overhead, backing up his point. Bruce glanced upward. "Convenient timing."

"I do my best, Master Wayne."

Dick had picked out the majority of the items in the pile, but that fact didn't lessen the boy's enjoyment at seeing each thing come out of its paper disguise. It was only when they reached the last package that he frowned. "Wait…I don't remember there being anything else." He peered up at Alfred, confused. "Didn't Bruce open everything we got him?"

"There was one last minute item that you suggested without realizing it, young sir." Alfred let his gaze flicker over to the stack of board games waiting in the corner. When Dick had listed off their titles last night he'd seemed hesitant, as if he was being forced to compromise. Now his eyes widened with comprehension, and excitement bloomed on his face.

"You don't mean…is that really-"

"Ah-ah, Master Dick," Alfred quieted him. "Don't give away the surprise."

The boy's expression became worried. Before he could say anything more, though, Bruce broke in. "I seem to be missing something. What's going on with this present?"

"You'll have to open it to see, sir."

Bruce blinked at him for a second, then turned to Dick. "Do you want me to open it?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"But I don't want it to make you mad."

"Make me mad?" Bruce shook his head in puzzlement. "Chum, what's in here?"

Dick bit his lip and didn't answer. "You may as well open it," Alfred advised. "We won't tell you what it is."

The billionaire shrugged, picked up his last gift, and did as he'd been told.


	3. Chapter 3

A low, rectangular wooden box emerged as Bruce peeled the paper back. Thick shellac protected the intricate pattern of colors arranged on the box's top and sides. It also reflected the light, making the box seem to glow from within. Dick gave an appreciative 'ooh'. Even Bruce appeared entranced as his fingertips skated over the sleek surface. "I don't know why this would make me mad," he remarked. "It's beautiful."

Alfred wanted to beam at that assessment. He had spent hours scouring workshops across the city in his quest to build the most attractive backgammon set possible. The skillful woodwork of the box's exterior continued inside, where alternating peaks of blond and honey stood out against an ebony backdrop. In the counter bins built into one end of the board were discs of bright blue lapis lazuli and forest green jade. The pair of dice nestled alongside them had been carved from white marble. Alfred knew all of this, but he felt no pride at his achievement. Not yet; not when he hadn't seen Bruce's reaction to the full contents of his gift.

"Open it?" Dick requested. "Please? Inside…inside's the part you might be mad about."

Bruce lifted the lid, then froze. Alfred could tell that the craftsmanship of the game was what had first struck his charge, and for a moment he felt relief. Then Bruce's brow knit. "This is backgammon," he said flatly. His stare rose to meet Alfred's. "We talked about this."

"We talked about it some fifteen years ago, sir," Alfred replied tetchily. While he wasn't surprised by the reaction that was unfolding, he was disappointed, and he couldn't hide it. "I thought perhaps the mood had passed by now."

"Alfred-"

"It's my fault," Dick murmured. Both Alfred and Bruce turned to face him, drawn by the sadness in his tone. "It's my fault, Bruce," the boy repeated in a stronger voice. "Don't be mad at Alfred. I was the one who gave him the idea." Behind Dick's confession came the whole story – his memories of playing backgammon with his father, his desire to do so with Bruce, the way he'd gone through every game in the house in his attempt to make it happen. By the end there were tears standing in his eyes. "I didn't want to make you mad, honest. When Alfred told me you didn't like it I tried to pick some other games we could play." He gestured to the pile of boxes in the corner. "See? We don't have to play backgammon. I know you don't like it. It's…it's okay. "

"As gallant as Master Dick is being in trying to take the blame, he had no idea that I would take his idea and run away with it," Alfred put in. "As you saw, Master Wayne, he wasn't expecting this gift any more than you were. If you're going to be upset with anyone, let it be me."

"No!" Dick protested. He latched onto Bruce's arm with both hands. "You can't be mad at Alfred on Father's Day. That'd be like me being mad at you today. It wouldn't be right."

Bruce started as if the boy was carrying an electric current. He shot Alfred a guilty glance, then quickly returned his attention to Dick. "Kiddo-"

"It's not _right_ , Bruce!"

"I'm not mad, chum! I'm not…I'm not mad. Okay?" The billionaire closed the box that had started all of the trouble and lifted his free hand to dry his son's cheeks. "Stop crying. It's okay."

"But you were mad a minute ago," Dick sniffled.

"Well…yes, I was. But I'm not now. So calm down." Bruce pulled the child into his lap. "I'm not mad now that I know it's something you used to do with your dad."

"It is, but we don't have to-"

"Hush. I know we don't have to. But we're going to, and for a couple of reasons. First, because it's important to you. That makes it important to me, too, regardless of how I feel about it otherwise. Second, because I don't think Alfred just walked into a store and bought this. I think he had to put some time into it and buy each part of the game from a different place. Am I right about that, Alfred?"

"You are, sir." The box had been the easy part. Having the counters and dice made to replace the plain ones that had come with the board had been far more challenging.

"Then this is the complete opposite of the off-the-shelf version that I told him to throw out years ago. Plus…" Bruce considered the box for a second, and sighed as if he was about to give in to something he didn't want to. "It really is beautiful. It would be a crime to get rid of it without using it once or twice."

Dick peeked up at Bruce. "You want to play? Honest?"

"I'm honestly _willing_ to play. Is that good enough for you?"

"Yeah." A tiny smile started across the boy's lips. "Could we play now? Please?"

The billionaire looked pained, but he nodded. "Sure. Let's play now."

Alfred knew better than to start celebrating just yet. For all that Dick had turned the tide of Bruce's anger, there was still every chance for a blow-up if luck came into play. Wishing not for the first time that he could see the future, Alfred perched on the edge of a chair and prepared to watch the game unfold.

Dick had moved to the floor opposite Bruce. "Do you remember the rules?" he asked when the gleaming pieces were all in place.

"Don't worry," Bruce answered, his nostrils flaring as he regarded the board. "I remember everything about backgammon. You start."

After the first few turns Alfred began to relax. Dick was a good player, but Bruce had years of strategic experience on him. As counters began stacking up in their respective bins, Bruce's shoulders loosened. His forehead smoothed, and his lips unpursed themselves. "This isn't as unpleasant as I remember," he said when Dick asked how he was enjoying their game. "Your move, kiddo."

Eventually it was clear that Bruce would win during the next round. He had but two checkers left to bear off, and both sat in the lane nearest to his home box. No matter what he rolled on his next turn, the last of his pieces would be removed. Dick, on the other hand, still had four pieces in play. While they were all eligible to be cleared from the board, they were spread out; one sat a single spot from the box, two sat three spots from safety, and the fourth was all the way out on six. "You're going to win," the boy said.

"Are you giving up?" Bruce asked.

"No. I'm just saying." Dick picked up the dice for his final turn. "Let's see what I can get, anyway."

Alfred's stomach dropped as the marble cubes came to rest. Twelve onyx dots pointed towards the ceiling – double sixes. Doubles meant Dick had up to four moves to make, and the fact that he'd rolled double sixes meant that it was now possible for him to empty his side of the board. He had, in short, won, and by a sheer stroke of luck at that. "Oh, dear..."

Dick had gone pale. Slowly, he raised his gaze to Bruce. "I...I'm sorry..."

Bruce was staring at the dice, his eyes wide with disbelief. Alfred pinched his fingers tightly between his knees, preparing for a storm that he expected would rival the one still roaring outside. Several seconds passed. "Sir?" Alfred ventured, breaking the awkward silence. "I'm sure-"

He stopped speaking as a sound escaped the billionaire. The noise went on longer than any word in the English language, but Alfred recognized it nonetheless. "Is...is he laughing?" Dick asked hesitantly.

"...Yes, Master Dick. I believe he is." Or rather, Alfred didn't believe it. Shock and ire were what he'd been anticipating Bruce's reaction would be composed of; laughter was consequently astounding. He wasn't complaining by any means, but this was so unusual that he had to press for answers. "Master Wayne, are you...are you all right, sir?"

Bruce wiped his streaming eyes. "I'm fine, Alfred," he chuckled.

"Are you sure?" Dick inquired in a worried tone. "I mean, I'd rather you laughed than got mad, but...you _lost."_

"Yes. I did. That game was mine, and I lost it for the stupidest reason in the world – luck. Pure, unadulterated luck." A smile stayed on his face as he shook his head. "I hate that shit. Sorry, Alfred."

Alfred waved the apology away. A single swear word was a gift compared to what he had been bracing for. "As much as I agree with Master Dick," he ventured, "aren't you upset? This is exactly what happened the last time you played."

"It is. And I can't tell you how ridiculous it is that I lost to chance two times running, fifteen years apart. The odds of that are astronomical. But as little as I like it, luck is a part of life. I suppose I understand that better now than I did when I was younger. More importantly," Bruce turned his smile on Dick, "if there's anyone in the world that I don't mind having better luck than me, it's you, chum. I guess it isn't realistic to want you to have good fortune in every aspect of your life other than backgammon, so...I can live with you beating me."

Dick beamed. "You can laugh at it, too. That's impressive."

"Impressive indeed," Alfred concurred. Pride filled him as Bruce leaned back and watched Dick move his last pieces off the board. Despite everything, his boy really had grown up well. He couldn't have been more pleased with his progress if they'd shared the same blood.

"Do you want to play again?" Dick asked, already setting up the counters for a new game.

"Let's...let's take a break, chum. We'll play again later. We will," Bruce insisted when the child gave him a skeptical look. "I promise. Now come up here on the couch with me, and we'll watch a movie."

"Okay!" Dick scrambled into place beside Bruce and curled up under his arm. "Alfred? Could we have popcorn? Pretty please?"

Alfred smiled. "You _are_ getting ready for a growth spurt, Master Dick," he said as he stood up. "Of course you may have popcorn. I'll go and make it for you."

He hadn't gotten far down the hall when Bruce's voice stopped him. "Alfred."

"Yes, Master Wayne? Did you want drinks as well as popcorn, or...?"

"No. That is, yes, drinks would be nice, but that's not what I came out here for." Bruce glanced back into the den, where Dick could be heard flipping through movie selections. Shutting the door, he took a few steps closer. "I just wanted to say...well...it's a beautiful set, Alfred. And I wouldn't blame you for not believing this, but...I could live with you beating me occasionally, too."

Alfred realized suddenly that he'd been wrong when he'd thought that he couldn't be any prouder of the man standing before him. "Considering all the good fortune I've already had in my life, sir, I'm bound to be soundly defeated if I sit down at a backgammon board again. But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to try sometime."

"Good. Good. Happy...happy Father's Day, Alfred." A faint pink flush appeared in Bruce's cheeks. "You've, ah...you've earned it far more than I have."

Alfred had to clear his throat before he could speak. "That's hardly the case, Bruce, but I appreciate the sentiment." Reaching out, he squeezed his charge's shoulder for the briefest of moments. "I'll be in shortly with your snack, hmm?"

Bruce swallowed hard. "Thank you," he whispered. And with that he vanished back into the den.

Eyes hot, Alfred turned back to his own business. It was strange, he thought, how many unexpected things had come up in the last week. They had all ended well, but their outcomes could have been much worse. Dick might have hurt himself scaling the closet shelves; the backgammon set might have proven impossible to pull together at the last minute; Bruce might have gone through with his fit at seeing the game back in his house, or pitched a new one upon losing at it. None of those ends would have surprised him.

But none of them had come to pass. Perhaps, Alfred smiled, he still had a bit of luck to spare after all. And if he did have a little left, there could be no more pleasurable way to spend it than by trying to make Bruce repeat the wild, wonderful laugh he'd given a few minutes earlier. After dinner would be a fine time for such an attempt. Until then, he was content to just enjoy the most marvelous Father's Day of his life.

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 **Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this bit of Father's Day fluff. If you did, I hope you'll be so kind as to check out some of my original fiction on my website, www dot jleehazlett dot com. I'll be posting a fun sci-fi piece there in the next week or so, along with a new piece of travel writing.**

 **Until next time, happy reading!**


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